


Magic Fingers

by knotted_rose



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knotted_rose/pseuds/knotted_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a slightly hurt Danny. And a Steve trying to fix it. . . .<i>but Steve had been resisting for so long he couldn't just change course that fast.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Magic Fingers

Steve was early. He didn't think Danny would mind. He'd bitch about it--he bitched about everything--but he wouldn't kick Steve out, or make him go, except maybe to get pizza or coffee, depending on the time of day. So he took his time strolling from his car up to the door of Danny's shithole apartment.

 _Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

What the hell was that? Steve reached for a side-arm that wasn't there, then cursed. It was Sunday. Game day for them. Football and beers and maybe sitting too close to each other on the couch as the sunset cast colors across the sky.

 _Bzzzt._

Was that a moan? Was Danny alright?

All Steve could think of were death drones, the little copters that looked like they'd come out of a science fiction movie and could not only survey, but drop poisonous gas and mini-bombs. He pulled out his boot knife and burst into Danny's place, glad that the door wasn't locked because he would have kicked it.

Danny sat on the fold-out bed, wearing only white boxers. He had one hand stretched behind his back. "Jesus, McGarrett!" He slowly unbent his arm and pointed a white buzzing thing at him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Can't you just knock, like a normal human being? Or do you always have to make an armed entrance?"

Steve looked sheepishly at the knife and knelt to put it back into his boot. Also to give himself a moment because Danny not only wasn't wearing a tie, he wasn't wearing a shirt. Steve swallowed, took a deep breath, then stood, managing a casual shrug. "Thought I heard someone calling for help, and I needed to render assistance. And what is that thing?"

"If there were any noises coming from within my residence--which there were not--it would have been a steady stream of curses all directed at you for how messed up my back, neck and shoulders have become. And that's just from riding in the car yesterday!"

"We couldn't let them--"

"Do you, or do you not, have a good knowledge of the roads here?"

Steve winced and nodded.

"So. Perhaps you could explain to me why you had to take my car _down a cliff_ \--"

"It wasn't a cliff--"

"Did I look like I was finished? No. Then you drove, along a hiking trail, _through the jungle,_ when instead, you could have called HPD and had them waiting where the dirt trail ended?" Danny punctuated his rant with theatrical waves of the white stick with the blob on its end, as if he were conducting an orchestra.

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "They might have been going to a hideout instead," he insisted stubbornly.

"A hideout." Disbelief dripped from Danny's words. Steve had never met anyone who could put so much meaning into so few syllables. Or maybe it was the hand gestures.

"Yes. And again, what the hell is that thing?" Steve reached out to grab the white baton but jerked back as if it had stung him when he realized it was vibrating.

"This, my friend, is a Hitachi Magic Wand." Danny turned it off and the soft buzzing sound finally disappeared. "I'm hoping that the judicious application of it to my neck and shoulders means I won't have to fill out a claim for worker's comp."

"It's a vibrator." Steve said with a deliberate smirk.

"No! No, it's not like that," Danny said.

Steve grinned. "I'm sorry I interrupted your session with your sex toy. Should I come back later?"

"It isn't a sex toy!" Danny said, standing, pointing said device at Steve. "As you'd know if you'd bothered to listen instead of always yapping your jaw. My back and neck _hurt_ you asshole, it's probably some kind of whiplash, and it's all your fault."

Danny had gotten close--too close. Steve forced himself to drag his eyes from the broad expanse of chest hair facing him and up to Danny's eyes. He could suddenly smell him: coffee and sweat and male and _Danny._

"Well, if I caused the problem, shouldn't I fix it?" Steve found the words escaping before he lock them down. It kept happening more and more--the looks, the words, the casual touches.

Danny narrowed his eyes. "What are you proposing, exactly?"

"Here," Steve said, already reaching, unable to deny his greedy hands. "Let me." He turned Danny and started massaging his shoulders and neck, gently but firmly, applying precise pressure to guarantee pleasure, not pain.

"Oh! Oh. SEAL, boyscout, masseuse, many hidden depths," Danny murmured.

Steve noticed that Danny didn't ask him to stop. So he kept going, working from high on his partner's neck, across the muscled shoulders to his deltoid muscles, down along his trapizoid. His fingers quickly learned the level of pressure that Danny enjoyed, the tense layers of muscle under his skin. He limited himself to just that touch, though his greedy hands wanted much, much more.

"Do you--do you think we could get a little more horizontal?"

Steve had never heard that particular strain in Danny's voice before. He craned his head to the side to see what was wrong, then looked down.

"Sure, buddy," Steve replied, lifting his hands and stepping back.

Danny dove like a missile for the bed and Steve took a deep breath. It was natural for a guy to tent up when getting a massage. It didn't mean anything.

Still, that didn't mean that Steve didn't slide off his boots and follow Danny down, straddling his hips and leaning to put more weight and pressure into his strokes.

Steve didn't consider the drawbacks to this plan until his dick realized just how close it was to where it really, _really_ wanted to be.

Still, Steve bravely continued, trying not to show his hand, or his dick, too much. He shifted positions, tightened his gut to tilt his pelvis and hold his penis up out of the way, even went up higher on his knees until the micro-tremors were replaced with real shakes.

Finally Steve got to the base of Danny's back, spreading his hands wide across that intimate space. "I think that will do you," Steve said, heaving himself up and over to the side.

All that greeted him was a soft snore.

A huge sense of relief washed over Steve. He adjusted himself hastily, knowing better than to touch himself for too long. Danny didn't know. Couldn't know. It would never be okay if he ever did find out.

But Steve couldn't stress about that right now. Danny was asleep, and a nap sounded like a really awesome idea. Steve stretched out on his side, and before he really think through the consequences, sleep stole over him as well.

* * *

A heavy weight held Steve down. He accepted it, though.

It took Steve a moment to work out why he wasn't freaked.

The smell of Danny surrounded Steve. And the weight was Danny's arm, his elbow resting against Steve's navel, and his hand curled up over Steve's heart.

A lump across Steve's back made itself known next. Steve realized it was his shirt, rucked up under his arms. He turned his head. Danny still seemed dead to the world. Maybe Steve could get up, slip out of bed, without Danny knowing that they'd curled up like that.

"Too many clothes." The words were sharp, not sleep-slurred, and Steve knew he'd been busted.

"What do you mean?"

The hand on Steve's chest stretched, and Danny's fingers started lightly stroking his collarbone. "You. You have too many clothes on."

"Danny — no."

"No?" That finally got Steve Danny's face turned toward him, eyes open and glaring. "What do you mean no? We've been heading for this thing since day _numero uno._ And you, my friend, are anything but subtle."

"I am too subtle," Steve said, aware that his tone might be called whining.

Danny snorted. "You made up the name 'Smooth Dog' didn't you? Or it's an opposite thing, like how you might call a bald man 'Curly'?"

Steve would never, _ever_ tell Danny that he earned the name because, according to Nick, his taste in mood music was atrocious. "No, that's not the point."

"You're right. For once, you're right. That isn't the point. The point is that we are both horizontal, interested, and god knows I'm willing. What's your beef?"

"It isn't as simple as that," Steve sighed as Danny continued to caress his chest. His traitorous dick was already signed up for the program, but Steve had been resisting for so long he couldn't just change course that fast.

"Sure it is," Danny said. "Nothing's going to change. I'm still going to want to punch you on a regular basis, your ability to follow police procedure is still going to be nonexistent, and you're going to keep getting us shot at and possibly killed. Why can't I at least get some fun out of it?"

"Want more than fun." Steve realized what he'd said and tried to scoot away.

Danny stopped Steve from being able to flee by lifting himself up and landing, heavily, on top of Steve.

"Ooof." Steve said. He didn't know how his hands ended up on Danny's hips. They must have moved there on their own.

"I'll give you ooof," Danny said, glaring from three inches away. "What, do you think I do this kind of thing regularly? Or that I skip from bed-to-bed? No, when Danny Williams commits to a plan of action, he's _committed._ "

Danny paused, and seemed to be waiting. Steve didn't know how to respond. He'd wanted, and longed, and held himself back and why was he waiting? Here was Danny. Right here.

So Steve answered the only way he could—by lifting his head, approaching Danny slowly, lips first, anticipation building. Steve couldn't read Danny's expression — their faces were too close together — but he thought he recognized amusement as well as fond exasperation, at least in the slight half smile.

Finally their lips touched, dry and soft and Steve couldn't stop. Couldn't gentle his approach or be _smooth_ for the life of him. He pressed harder and opened his mouth to taste. Jesus, the taste of Danny. Inexplicably salty, when Steve had always imagined he'd be sweet. They pressed into each other, sliding their tongues together, twisting and turning and god, Danny was talented and Steve always knew he'd be good with his mouth, able to do more than just talk with that tongue of his.

Steve's hands got with the program again, pulling Danny's hips harder against his own, pressing up, seeking contact, seeking relief, seeking anything and everything and more.

"What did I say about too many clothes?" Danny muttered, drawing back. "Jesus, you expect me to do everything, don't you?" He pulled back, sat up halfway, and yanked at Steve's shirt, pulling it off over his head. "Take your shirt off at the drop of a clue at a crime scene," he complained as he leaned back down, licking along expanse where shoulder curved up into neck.

Steve didn't care about Danny's bitching. He was always bitching at Steve. It was part of their thing. What he did care about was Danny's mouth and Danny's tongue and dear god his teeth working all of Steve's skin and whatever cool Steve might have claimed was quickly slipping away. He rolled them, closer to the center of Danny's foldout, giving himself some room to undo his pants and shove them down. "Now who has too many clothes?" he asked, pushing bare flesh against Danny's boxers, soft from too many washings, a hard cock thrusting up to meet him.

"Commando. Of course," was the only response Steve got. That, and a searing kiss that threatened to derail any other thoughts he might have.

Now it was Danny's turn to roll them, to pull down the last barrier between them. He lay back down and grasped both their cocks in one hand, gripping earnestly and stripping Steve bare, demolishing his last defenses. "Danny," he managed to breathe out between kisses and groans and licks. "God, Danny." Steve let his hands do the talking, caressing every inch he could reach, squeezing Danny's ass, following the edges of solid muscle up his back, down his shoulders and back again, a restless trail that couldn't adequately express everything Steve felt.

But somehow, it didn't matter. Danny got it, just like he got Steve. "Right here, still," he murmured, grinding down on Steve's hips, giving him that needed pressure and weight, anchoring him so Steve could let go and fly, soar through that white cloud as his body convulsed, his hips thrusting up hard with the strength of his orgasm.

And Danny, Danny _was_ right there, joining in with a hoarse cry that could have been Steve's name, evidence of his own orgasm shooting out over Steve's stomach.

In the aftermath they both lay there, panting and loose-limbed. Steve let himself drift for at least a minute, maybe five, enjoying the smell of sex and Danny and the comfortable weight before he sighed, his brain catching up and asking, yet again, what the hell had just happened.

Steve floundered mentally, because his hands continued to prove they had a mind of their own and were now softly caressing Danny's back. "How's the neck and shoulders?" he finally settled on.

"Still hurt," Danny said, giving Steve a slight punch on his shoulder that also served as a push, so Danny ended up on his back beside Steve. However, instead of looking at the ceiling he turned his head and smiled. "But better. Thanks."

Steve nodded, taking what he could get. Everything wasn't perfect. They weren't about to go riding off into some sunset together. Danny would drive him crazy sometimes with his insistence on procedure and due cause, as well as ranting about Hawaii, the weather, and every other thing known to man.

But things were better, and hopefully before the end of the day by the time they got around to round two, would be better still.

"Could always use your sex toy some more," Steve had to add. Because it was them, and gentle and easy they weren't.

"Shut. Up." Danny said, rolling back on top of him, letting all his weight settle, as if he never planned to move again. Just the way Steve had planned all along.

{end}


End file.
